#ofmaddogs

He is bonkers for it. For the past couple weeks he has been immediately picking through his breakfast to gobble all these down. He loves them to the point of ignoring peanuts. So my housemate Kal and I had to know: what do they taste like?

The ingredients list looks more or less the same as other bird foods: rice flour, wheat, soybeans, corn meal, some fruits, lots of added vitamins, a little molasses. I've tried lots of brands of bird food and they're all underwhelming, like multicolored grape nuts. So when Kal and I were reading through the list I said, "these are probably not gonna taste like much. Other bird foods smell nice, but they're pretty bland."

Ripley was right, though: these are actually great. They taste like an apple crumble. I'm gonna have to stop myself from eating them. What the hell.

The thing about the Washingtons (if he had to just pick the one) was how very little fear they were in possession of. The way he'd been brought up, the way he lived, fear was a natural extension of common sense, a limb that propelled you forward or held you back; in a place like Blackwood, fear kept you hale and hearty and maybe not whole, but alive.

The Washingtons, it seemed, didn't care about any of that.

When he grabbed the whelp by the scruff, hauling him back and out of the mine with a single tug, it was fear he expected to be greeted with, surprise at the very least, but even as he shoved him onto the trail and stuck a finger in his face (lowering the kerchief covering his nose and mouth only enough that his gruff warning could be heard), the boy simply looked at him, simply smirked a slow, sidelong smile.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked, his voice full of laughter, full of pride, full of all the things that made you soft and slow and so very, very easily chewed.

the big ass bug eyes you see on sumerian statues like

If I'm gonna snap necks, then I gotta snap back. Got a bad feeling I'm gonna lose the lead...

~ ~ ~

A restlessness consumed him. Ever present, starving, rotting him from inside. Two beings should not- could not- coexist in one body. Vastly different, ListoSiden yearned for the light. Keons, the betrayer, needed to feel alive again.

For as much as he wanted to feel alive, Keons sure spent a hell of a lot of time with the dead. Nico had no trouble staring down at the corpse, cooled by nature and dropped down to the temperature of Nico's skin. Nills, however, shifted nervously on the balls of his feet.

"Keons, I have a really bad feeling about this." Nills protested, eyes locked warily on the darting man fixing bones together to shape a skeleton. His stomach clenched, churning and sloshing together to create nausea. He wouldn't throw up... He would not throw up... Keons remained silent, eyes aglow in a turbulent storm of fire and ice. Shards melted in the dark pools, glaciers melting into waves as ListoSiden and Keons internally battled for control.

"I'm serious, Keons. Forget impulse and think about the probability that this will work at all! Listo has been gone far too long, and I can't wield that much balance alone. Even with Nico channeling, it's not going to work!" Nills began to pace. The more he circled the dark stone inlet at the side of the mountain, the closer the walls seemed to close in on him. This was fucking stupid. Keons was a goddamned fool, and it was like looking into a mirror to have agreed to come to... the bumfuck middle of nowhere. Dammit, why were they even here?

"Would you relax, Nills? Have you forgetten that Listo isn't gone?" Nico, who had remained silent the entire trip, finally chimed in. His bottom lip held evidence of his worrying, a crack split open yet not drawing blood.

"How could I forget!?" Nills voice echoed, booming off the stone and seeping into the tunnels therein. "Does it look like he's going to be willing to participate? His skull is wrapped around a necropolictic corpse!"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Keons whipped around, hand seizing the column of Nills throat as he hurled the other into splintering stone. Fear etched creases into Nills' brows, jaw tensing. Keons continued, "ListoSiden will obey me. You will do your part or I will leave you to the beasts on this mountain and relish the music of your screams as they feast on your flesh." Ice crowded the corners of his eyes and lashes, fingertips frigid against warmed flesh.

"O-okay... Okay!" Nills choked. What choice did he have? For a moment, he almost thought to have seen a glimpse of gold in those eyes... Listo! But it was so quick, and Nills was a hopeless wretch who still dreamed of seeing the man he'd loved again. Fingers relented and retreated, busied once more to assemble the puzzle of bones.

If I'm gonna snap necks, then I gotta snap back. Got a bad feeling I'm gonna lose the lead..

Keons was impatient, the three four men standing round the pile of bones. He couldn't allow Listo control. Time was running out, so it felt, and he had to do something... A change. For one, Keons was going to bring someone back from the dead.

Reluctantly, Nico and Nills obediently stretched out their hands to form a semi circle round their heads. Fingers curled, twisting and conspiring into each other as arms stretched out over bones, waving and pawing air down over the pile. Wind whirled at their touch, circling upwards and round them. The bones rattled, Keons's eyes covered in a glowing blue. Nico's gaze burned bright: one sparking to a brilliant flame while the other froze over... And Nills caught fire in his eyes, locked on Keons where he searched for Listo's presence. Four souls intertwined, one fighting every step of the way as Keons demanded submission.

Eventually, Keons had won. Balance fell into accordance, and the Tetrad of Harts called forth from the dead and guided life back into dried bones... Tendons mottled and twisted into joints and muscles. Flesh formed. Keons grinned, eyes flickering as a fire consumed his cool bones. Oh, he could feel it. Life surged through brittle bones, reviving him. Listo was silenced, drained, and fed from. But Keons felt so alive.

Shallow breaths heaved, crouching at the crown of this man's head. A sea of emotion billowed in his eyes, awaiting the resurrection of the man. When his eyes opened, Keons was there to properly greet him.

memes, accepting

there’s blood stains upon the tusk ivory snow. his fist, numb, lacerated, curled against a canvas jacket. august had every intention to obscure the wound. sadly, secrets have a way of cutting loose. he was tying a makeshift bandage across his hand, fabric knot between teeth.

you bury enough secrets, the graveyard runs out of room.

his head snaps toward hawk. thunderstruck look beneath chestnut eyes. (like when a dog buries a milk bone in the yard. like when a deer gets blinded by headlights.)

Is naught hiking one of Roland's greatest triumphs? One of his cleanest berths fraught from the depths of the Great Mother Gaia, as his is pricked and packed with his gear-- his van parked aftways, triple-locked and quietly safe-- his foot borne to his well-worn combat boot, his clothing secure, his hoard of food and drink and maps all abound in his load of a weighted backpack, and pouches and swinging compasses banged upon his moving hip?

The sunlight is high in this awning of a new Day, the morning still crisp with the trilling of birdsong, as the dead twigs crack 'neath Roland's eager boots. His face is serene, decadent, ready to crack open the jaws of noble Tiamat to unearth her infinite secrets, Her Voice Eternal; tilting his ear at the softest creak and groan of Her crusted, sacred earth.